


Laugh Along With Everybody Else

by Kacka



Series: Kacka Does a Thing [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hollywood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9591134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Bellamy likes his ridiculous soap opera gig, if only because he has a huge thing for his co-star.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from anonymous on tumblr. i hope you enjoy it!!

“How  _ dare _ you.”

Bellamy looks up with a grin as his dressing room door crashes loudly against the wall. “I see you’ve read the script.”

Clarke falls across his couch like a swooning southern belle, one hand to her forehead.

“After all we’ve been through, Bellamy. I can’t believe you would father one of my own  _ sister’s _ twins.”

“Just one of the twins,” he points out, spinning his chair to face her. “Because that’s biologically possible.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” she sniffs, but her expression cracks into a smile when she looks over at him.

This is why Clarke is his favorite person on set. She, somehow unlike the rest of their cast, is aware of just how ridiculous their show actually is.

Which is part of why he likes it, honestly. He got into acting because there didn’t seem like much of a downside-- if he didn’t get regular work, it was something he could fit around his patchwork schedule of minimum wage positions, and if he  did get something more steady, it seemed like it would pay a lot more than Starbucks. 

He never set out to be a serious actor, hence why he had no reservations about going out for any job, from voicing a squirrel in a Geico commercial to, yes, soap operas. He  _ took _ the job because it gave him enough hours to get health insurance from the SAG. But ask him why he looks forward to going in to work every day, and he’d have to try really hard not to mention Clarke Griffin.

“Really?” He asks now, propping his feet up on her thigh. “It wouldn’t be worse if I was the father of both her twins?”

“You slept with her even after I  _ saved _ your  _ life _ .”

“I wouldn’t have gotten hypothermia if you hadn’t pushed me down that well in the first place!”

“I was possessed by my dead lover’s ghost,” she says, fighting a smile. “It was really traumatic for me.”

“For  _ you _ ,” he mutters. “Which one of us had to spend six hours in cold water?”

“I thought it was twelve.”

“I’m not talking about Antonio. I’m talking about me, Bellamy. They couldn’t even make it warm water?”

“They were going for realism,” she says, patting his ankle patronizingly.

“Yeah, realism is really important to this show,” he snorts. “Realistically, I doubt I would have taken my shirt off if I was hypothermic.”

“It was wet, it wasn’t keeping you warm,” Clarke points out, finally letting herself smile. “Besides, if you’re going to die, might as well go out looking hot.”

“Oh, you think I’m hot?” He teases, nudging her in her most ticklish spot with his foot.

She yelps and swats at it. “You were shirtless and ripped and wet. Yeah, I think that’ll do it for me.”

Bellamy smirks and gets up from his chair, bracing one hand on the back of the couch as he leans over her. Her blonde hair is fanned out on the cushion in its natural, tangled waves. He likes it this way a lot better than the perfectly curled extensions the hair and makeup crew set for her every day. Like this, it’s soft to the touch, short enough to frame her face, perfect for running his fingers through.

He brushes a strand back and she shivers when his nose follows the same path from her temple, down behind her ear. 

“What about this?” He breathes, brushing his lips up her neck and smirking against her skin when her fingers bury themselves in his hair, holding him there.

“What about it?”

He bites at the shell of her ear, her breath stuttering. “This do it for you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, her hands slipping down to his belt loops to tug him the rest of the way down on top of her. He grunts, laughing, and tries to soften his fall so he doesn’t crush her. They end up tangled together, his forearm resting by her head to prop him up, one of his legs caught between hers (which he’s not convinced she didn’t orchestrate somehow), his hand resting on her side.

Her arms wrap around his shoulders to hold him close. 

“You could still be more shirtless,” she murmurs even as her lips capture his, like she can’t decide whether to tease him or kiss him first. He can relate, laughing into her mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy and consuming and so, so good.

“I could,” he agrees, slipping one hand beneath the hem of her shirt. His touch draws a trail of goosebumps above her hip bone as her own fingertips trace delicately over the dimples at the base of his spine. “So could you.”

“Good point.” She gets her shirt off, then his, her nails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck as he settles in to explore the newly uncovered skin with his mouth.

They’ve been doing this on and off for months now. More on than off, if he’s being honest. The three months in the middle (when Clarke’s character was in a coma so that she could do some filming for some indie movie) were awful, even if they texted all the time and Skyped as much as they could. He should really talk to her about whether or not they’re dating, but he’s kind of afraid the answer is not. 

So for now, he’s just going with it. 

He's thinking about nipping at the ticklish spot, just to make her squirm a little, when she says, “Your sister invited me to her engagement party.”

Bellamy pauses, then heaves himself up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Wow, that’s a mood-killer.”

Clarke laughs. “Because I mentioned your sister when you were about to go down on me, or because I mentioned your sister’s impending marriage when you were about to go down on me?”

“A mix of both, probably. I was about to go down on you?”

“You caught that, huh? I was going to make it seem like your idea.”

“Yeah, you’re really subtle.” He drops his head to her shoulder and sighs. “So I assume you brought it up because you wanted to talk about it and not to interrupt your own plans.”

“I figured I’d ask you whether I should go,” she says, drumming her fingers against his ribs thoughtfully. “I mean, we’ve never met but I feel like I know her because you talk about her so much. But I don’t know if that goes both ways, or if she just invited me because I’m famous.”

“I’m famous too,” he points out, and she grins.

“Yeah, but you’re her brother. That ruins the illusion that you’re, you know, cool and exciting. I’m fun-famous.”

“True,” he laughs. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s definitely heard a lot about you from me. And--” He pauses. “She didn’t so much give me a plus-one to the wedding as much as a plus-Clarke. 'Bring you or come alone' were her explicit directions.”

“Yeah?” Clarke asks, her face brightening with delight, then softening when his thumb comes up to trace her smile.

“I was going to ask you, I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” It had felt like the start of that bigger conversation he’s been putting off, and he hadn’t been able to work up the courage. “But typical Octavia, she got tired of waiting for me and took matters into her own hands.”

“So I should come, is what you’re saying.”

“If you want to, yeah. O definitely wants you there.”

Her lower lip catches between her teeth. “Do you want me there?”

Bellamy leans down to kiss her, the sweep of his tongue soothing her own bite. She kisses back with a fervor that makes him feel lightheaded, the kind that makes him never want to stop kissing her. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice husky. “Of course I want you there.”

“Okay, so-- I’ll come, then.”

She still sounds uncertain, so he drops one more kiss on her lips before sliding down her body. “Awesome. Then let’s see about making you come now.”

She laughs and lifts her hips so he can get her pants off. “That sounds like an excellent plan to me.”

* * *

**Me:** I’m bringing Clarke to your party  
Please don’t be weird or embarrassing

**O:** like i’m the weird one  
i make no promises but i’ll try not to embarrass you in front of your girlfriend  
and may i point out you were not as cool about lincoln the first time you brought him home

**Me:** Yeah but this is your chance to show the world that you’re better than me

**O:** damn straight

**Me:** Also, please don’t call her my girlfriend to her face, I’m trying really hard not to screw this one up

**O:** how am i so much more competent than you at all of the things

**Me:** I raised you right

**O:** ...sounds fake, but okay  
i just want you to be happy, you know?

**Me:** I know  
I promise I’m working on it

* * *

He’s seen Clarke in glamorous dresses, professionally made-up, and, that one time their show did a destination episode, in a string bikini that almost made him lose his mind. She always looks amazing, but this is still his favorite, he thinks, as she slides into his passenger seat in a sundress and pristine white Keds, hair loose, her lip gloss smudging when he kisses her.

“I got your sister booze,” she says, holding up a huge tote bag full of bottles. Bellamy’s jaw drops.

“You trying to single-handedly stock the bar for the reception?”

“I figure if you raised her, she's probably got a healthy appreciation for all things alcoholic,” Clarke says cheerfully. “Besides, what’s the point of being semi-rich and semi-famous if you can’t buy truly ridiculous amounts of booze?” 

“That is what it’s all about,” he laughs. “And I got her a rice cooker like a chump.”

“Well, my goal is to make her like me better than you.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m pretty sure you’ve got that on lock.”

Clarke reaches over to pat his knee consolingly, her hand coming to rest a little higher on his leg than is safe, given where they’re headed. He clears his throat and picks it up, moving it to the center console but intertwining their fingers before she can pull away. She squeezes once, her smile sly, but doesn’t say anything else.

“So what’s your role in the wedding?” She asks, her thumb tracing his. It’s so stupid, honestly, that holding her hand gives him butterflies when he’s had his hands in much more intimate places, but at least she seems to be as into it as he is. Maybe he’ll get to do it more.

“Paying for stuff, mostly,” he says. “I’m probably walking her down the aisle, and I expect at least one dance at the reception, but I think that’s pretty much it. Neither of them has much in the way of family, and the guest list is so small they aren’t even doing a wedding party.”

“But I made the cut?”

“Well, the last wedding you went to, you saved the bride from marrying her gold-digging, scam-artist ex who’d gotten plastic surgery to hide his identity. She’s probably just hedging her bets.”

“What I’m hearing is I should keep an eye out for suspicious characters.”

Bellamy grins. “Octavia doesn’t have a lot of money, so I think you’re off duty.”

“He’d obviously be trying to get to her rich and famous brother. Come on, Bellamy. You’ve gotta think.”

“Yeah, I’m the one in danger here. You better stick close.”

She smiles and squeezes his hand again. “Don’t worry. I intend to.”

Octavia accosts them as soon as they get through the door, Lincoln at her side with an easy, welcoming smile.

“I'm so glad you could make it!”

“Hi,” Clarke laughs, spitting his sister’s hair out of her mouth. “You must be Octavia, I hope?”

“Sorry, I should've warned you,” Bellamy tells her, peeling his sister out of his co-star’s arms to wrap her up in a hug of his own. “I see how it is. Go for the fame and fortune before your own flesh and blood.”

“I'm trying to make a good impression, Bell. Geez,” she says, pushing him away. “I’d say you must be Clarke, but I’ve seen you on TV enough to recognize you anywhere.”

Clarke laughs, charmed. “You a fan of the show, or just your brother?”

“I like to revel in the over-the-top shit they make him do,” Octavia says with a mischievous grin. 

“It’s true,” Lincoln puts in. “We rarely get through an episode without laughing. My personal favorite is the storyline when he thought he could talk to birds.”

“I really liked that time his evil twin showed up,” says Octavia. “And the one with the salsa dancing competition.”

“Clarke had to do that one too,” he points out, rolling his eyes. “And I was way better at it than she was.”

“I’m personally a fan of when he has to dramatically fling himself down a staircase,” Clarke says, ignoring him. “He’s only had to do it three times in the past two seasons, which is sadly insufficient.”

“Betrayal from every angle,” he complains, unable to fight back a smile at seeing his sister and his-- Clarke-- getting along. “Screw you all, I’m gonna go find new friends.”

“You hate making friends,” Octavia snorts. “But yeah, go mingle or whatever. I’ve gotta do the hostess thing.”

“I believe Monty hooked up some kind of console in the back room,” Lincoln adds, and Bellamy grins. 

“We can always count on him. Try to keep her from combusting before she gets to make a good impression on your aunt.”

“I make an  _ excellent _ first impression, don’t I, Clarke?”

“Five stars.”

“Yeah, it’s that second impression where she really loses ground,” Lincoln teases, and Octavia elbows him in the side, her glare melting when he hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her in to kiss her forehead.

“That’s my cue to leave. We’ll be around if you need us.”

“It was good to finally meet you,” Clarke offers, leaning into Bellamy’s hand on the small of her back as he guides her to find the rest of his friends. 

They’re never found far from the video games, and today is no exception. Raven does, at least, pause the game when he walks in, which nobody particularly minds given how soundly she’s kicking their asses.

He makes introductions around and they settle into conversation easily, despite the fact that there’s not very much room on the couch. Clarke ends up tucked close to his side, nearly on top of him, one of his hands wrapped around her hip to keep her from falling. It would be pretty great for Bellamy if Miller didn’t smirk every time he made eye contact.

It’s honestly really nice, hanging out with Clarke among his friends. He doesn’t get to see them as much as he wants to, and has seen them even less since he and Clarke started sleeping together. It’s a glimpse of how it might be if they were  _ together  _ together, bittersweet every time he has to remind himself it isn’t real.

Clarke gets tips from Raven on how to play whatever weird game they’ve got on, she and Monty talk about being homeschooled, she and Miller bond over ragging on Bellamy, and he can feel her loosen as she gets used to their sarcastic, begrudgingly affectionate group. She fits right in.

After a while, Octavia and Lincoln join them with what his sister deems ’mystery punch,’ solo cups full of whatever booze was left over once all the other guests went home. Clarke sniffs hers skeptically.

“Ugh,” she gags, turning to bury her nose in Bellamy’s shoulder instead. He laughs, his thumb making apologetic circles on the skin above her waistband.

“Yeah, you don’t really want to smell it. Or taste it, honestly.”

“But we’re going to drink it.”

“No one is making you,” Lincoln says, at the same time as Raven goes, “It’s tradition.”

“That was a statement, not a question,” she laughs, raising the cup to the room before taking a tentative sip. Everyone watches, equal parts awed and disgusted as she swallows and makes a face.

“Horrific.”

“Cheers,” Monty grins.

“Is there a game that goes with mystery punch, or is the game, ‘drink this and try not to die’?”

“We usually watch your show,” Miller admits. “We have drinking rules that go with it. One sip for a terrible costume and/or accent, two sips if it’s  _ Bellamy _ doing the costume or accent.”

“Two sips for storylines that ignore the rules of science, two sips for shirtless Bellamy,” Raven adds. 

“A shot for a Bellamy sex scene,” Monty puts in, and Octavia shudders.

“Or as many shots as you need to forget you had to watch that with your own two eyes.”

“Wow,” says Clarke, raising her eyebrows. “You guys are either way better at drinking than I am or you get super drunk on a weekly basis.”

“Little of this, little of that.”

“We should do something different this time,” Bellamy says. “As coping mechanisms for terrible plots go, sarcasm and mockery is a lot healthier than binge drinking. I’d like to keep that association separate if I can.”

“Fair.” Raven taps her cup, thinking. “We haven’t played Never Have I Ever in a long time.”

Octavia’s grin is scarily shark-like. “What better way to get to know our new friend?”

“Up to you,” Bellamy shrugs when Clarke raises an eyebrow at him. “What’s said in this room stays in this room, or they get disowned.”

“I’m game,” she decides, and everyone cheers. 

It starts out pretty tame, Octavia getting everyone to drink with her standby, ‘never have I ever been on a plane,’ and Raven getting revenge with, ‘never have I ever been engaged,’ at which Octavia scowls into her sip but Lincoln happily drinks.

“Never have I ever been in a hot air balloon,” Miller says next, and Clarke taps her cup against Bellamy’s before they both drink.

“It wasn’t even a real hot air balloon,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, but as the one who was dangling over the side for thirty minutes, I feel a lot better about the fact that we were only six feet off the ground on a green screen,” Clarke points out, her amusement turning teasing as she adds, “Besides, six feet off the ground seemed plenty high for you at the time.”

“Bell is afraid of heights,” Octavia confirms gleefully. “I had to hear him freaking out about that scene for  weeks _._ ”

“Okay, okay,” his eyes narrow, catching on the line of Clarke’s smirk. “So... never have I ever  _ fallen out _ of a hot air balloon,” Bellamy grins, and Clarke shakes her head but drinks with a smile.

“That wasn’t just for the show?” Monty asks, surprised.

“My grip slipped the first time, so they changed my blocking after that. But if that’s how Bellamy wants to play it… Never have I ever crashed a moped.”

Bellamy groans and drinks, though to his surprise, so does Lincoln. 

“I studied abroad in Rome one summer,” he shrugs, as if this is a standard part of the experience, and everyone laughs.

The game continues, light and easy, with everyone making fun of each other and taking their share of the teasing with good grace. Bellamy’s ‘never have I ever been naked on film’ gets several of his friends to drink (including Clarke, which he has to work very hard not to follow up on). Even though everyone is targeting each other pretty equally, he and Clarke are the first ones out of punch, and it packs a wallop he is definitely feeling.

So is she, if the way she’s nodding off with her head tucked under his chin is any indication. 

He doesn’t know quite how he gets them to O and Lincoln’s guest room (even if he and Clarke aren’t huge names, he doesn’t want to risk bad press for either of them by joining his friends in their Lyft), but he winds up with Clarke in his arms, her nose pressed against his collarbone, both of them curled into each other as much as they can be even as the room spins around them.

“We’ve never done this,” she says, words slurred with sleep and alcohol. 

“Hanging out with my friends?” He asks, smoothing her hair back so it won’t make him itch as much.

“Sleeping,” she sighs against his skin. “It’s good.”

He hums his agreement, already drifting off himself. “It’s the best."

* * *

When he wakes, Clarke is already gone from the bed and he can hear the soft murmur of voices floating down the hall. He finds her in the kitchen with Lincoln, both of them looking a little bit like they either died or wished they had after last night. The same way he feels, honestly.

"Morning," he grunts, coming up behind her and kissing her hair. She stiffens for just a moment before relaxing into him.

"I hate mystery punch," she groans, and he rubs her back comfortingly.

"Yes, but you're definitely one of us now," Lincoln says, sliding Bellamy a plate of scrambled eggs and a coffee. "At least we have the day off. Octavia had to go in to the gym this morning for a class, and she was-- not happy."

Bellamy snorts. Eighteen years of seeing morning Octavia taught him that unhappy is an understatement, even before the hangover.

"You can go crash if you want," he tells Lincoln. "I'll clean up in here and we can see ourselves out."

Lincoln pauses. "If you really wouldn't mind..."

"Nah, man. We're good."

"Alright." He smiles at Clarke. "You're welcome back anytime. With or without Bellamy."

She ducks her head, smiling down at her plate. "Thank you. And thanks for letting me stay. I'll definitely see you at the wedding, if not sooner."

"Yes, see you then," Lincoln agrees, nodding at Bellamy before heading back down the hall.

"Later."

"I like him," she says once Lincoln has gone.

"He's taken," Bellamy says instantly, and she laughs, nudging him.

"So am I."

He pauses with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, then sets it down carefully. Her eyes are wide, like it was an admission she hadn't meant to make, and she's worrying her lip again.

Instead of saying any of the jumble of things running through his brain, he leans even further into her space, crowding her against the counter to kiss her long and sweet. 

His hands frame her face, massaging her scalp gently until she softens against him. He doesn't know if it feels good with her headache or if she's understanding everything he's trying to pour into the kiss, but he hopes it's a mix of both.

She's all he wants, and he gets to _have_ her. This is the only way he knows how to deal with that.

When they break apart, her head drops to his shoulder and he can feel her smile against his chest.

"For the sake of clarity," he says, his palm stroking gently up and down her spine, "I'm in love with you and I think you should date me."

"I think so too." She laughs softly. "I didn’t know how to say it.”

“Me either.”

She presses her lips over his heart. “I’m all for dating, but I think we should nap first. Maybe at your place?"

He kisses her once more, just because he can, before he lets her go.

"Sounds perfect." 

* * *

"No secret identities, no one interrupting to steal the bride and/or groom. What kind of wedding is this?" Clarke scoffs, their linked hands swinging between them.

After a few months together, holding her hand is not the novelty it once was. But it still sparks something warm within him, grounds him and puts him at ease. In his opinion, that's even better.

"What is even the point of a wedding without a single explosion?" Bellamy agrees.

"I'm definitely getting Miller to make a scene at ours," she says, easy as anything. "Try to convince you to run away with him. It'll totally scandalize all of my conservative relatives."

"Ours, huh?"

She bites her lip and squeezes his hand.

"What, you don't think we're endgame?"

"No, we totally are," he agrees, squeezing back. "Miller interrupts the wedding, Raven is on pyrotechnics, and then you and I escape in a hot air balloon."

"As long as it stays six feet off the ground."

"I'd even go ten for you."

Clarke laughs and tugs him to a stop so she can lean up and press her lips to his.

"I love you too," she tells him, and he grins.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I meant."


End file.
